Those Missing Moments
by CharlyMac
Summary: Pre-epilogue. How did Katniss and Peeta become closer again? Will the games have left a permanent mark of their lives? What I think happened between them both before the epilogue. Rated T because I'm paranoid. *changed to complete as I stopped writing it*
1. Chapter 1

Those Missing Moments

The golden ring, smooth and flawless in my fingers. Wings spread wide, the songbird grasping the arrow with its needle-like beak in the centre. When Madge had given me this pin, I would never have thought it would be the symbol of rebellion. The symbol that was linked with my name since the moment I entered the arena – Katniss Everdeen.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen, I am seventeen years old. I was in The Hunger Games. I was taken from the Quarter Quell to District Thirteen. Peeta was hijacked. The rebellion fought The Capitol. President Snow is dead. There are no more games. I am safe. For now._

I have to keep myself together these days, for Greasy Sae. She's been taking care of me ever since I arrived back in twelve – which was about two months ago. Every day is the same: get out of bed, eat, be washed, sit on my bed, eat, sit on my bed again, eat, and sleep. Then I wake up in my sleep, because that's when the nightmares attack. Images of my precious Prim being blown into a human firework scar my mind permanently – whether I'm awake or not. Prim wasn't even fourteen years old.

Peeta seems to be doing fine – he's not set up a bakery, probably reminded him too much of his now dead family. I know he does a lot of painting, I see people going to his house to buy paintings sometimes. I never see them when people carry them home – normally a white sheet protects the pieces. I miss his paintings.

I place my pin on the wooden table next to my bed. It must be the middle of the day, yet I have just woken up. Greasy Sae's daughter has caught the flu, so Sae has been forced to care for her – so I'm expected to feed myself and wash myself for the next few days.

I sit up, debating whether I should change out of my sleepwear or not. Deciding not to, I plod down the stairs clumsily inside my lonely house. At least, I _thought _it was lonely.

Peeta is stood in the doorway, pulling a navy jacket off his broad shoulders. I stop from shock – he'd been hijacked. He wasn't my boy with the bread. He wouldn't ever be that boy who threw the bread to me in the rain, he wouldn't ever be that fearless sixteen year old, confessing his love for me to the whole of Panem. He would only be that weak, pained boy who would dig his wrists into his shackles to stop himself turning into a mutt. So why was he here?

Hanging the coat on a hook drilled into the wall, Peeta gave me a weak smile. My expression was still displaying shock,

"Hello, Katniss," he said clearly, with a slight tone of sadness lingering in his greeting. I wasn't sure what to do – so I nervously stuck my hand up and waved. A small chuckle escaped his chapped lips. Peeta never went outside, yet I knew the old him enough to know why his lips were that way. Always sleeping with his windows open.

I continued walking down the stairs, not sure what else I could do. This moment was as awkward as it could get – I couldn't tell if he wanted to strangle me again or not,

"Greasy Sae requested I look after you, if that's alright," Peeta took a step towards me, looking straight into my grey eyes. His own eyes were still a beautiful shade of blue, but not his own. Something was missing from them – I couldn't quite identify what. They just weren't _his_.

I nodded my head, remembering that I was "mentally disorientated". Greasy Sae probably didn't trust me being alone in the house,

"Oh," I mumbled, the first thing I utter to him. He nods, then walks towards the kitchen. I swear I see him give a dirty look at the table – the exact same one Gale had been placed on when he'd almost been whipped to death. Hang on, did that mean he was still jealous about that moment, even though he wasn't the same Peeta?

"Do you hear from Gale?" Peeta questions. That's when I know he remembers.

Fiddling with the bottom of my pyjama shirt, I enter the kitchen,

"No," I answer simply, wondering what Peeta wants to do. It's not the first time we've spoken since we came back to District 12, yet it feels like it. The first time he had an episode since he came back, he had built a wall between us, refused to speak to me until now. He'd had a month and a half to recover.

Peeta nods, then begins looking through the cupboards until he finds a large mixing bowl. I find it hard to stop a smile tugging at my lips, since I know what he's going to do,

"You love my cheese buns, real or not real?" Peeta smiles, taking out a fresh slice of cheese from the refrigerator. Now I know why Greasy Sae had bought some,

"Real," I realise I've only been giving him one syllable answers – which might irritate him. Unfortunately, Peeta is better at starting conversation's than I am, so I just stood there wondering what else I could say.

Peeta seems to know my house pretty well, which surprises me. It doesn't take him long to find all the ingredients he needs – since Greasy Sae seemed to have mysteriously bought them all... – and begin stirring up the mixture into a big, cheesy mess. My bare feet don't make a sound on the wooden floor as I creep over, then lean over the counter to watch what he's doing. Looking up for a second, he gives me another small smile, then continues mixing.

I remember Peeta giving me a similar smile, back in the arena, when we were announced as victors. It took a while for it to sink in, before he gave me a genuine smile. One showing hope, that we could be together when we got back home. If I hadn't said I was doing it all for the games, would we be in this position right now?

Shaking the thought out of my head, I notice Peeta is staring at me. I re-enter reality, abruptly shaking my head,

"What?" I ask, wondering why he's staring. Peeta lifts the bowl,

"Want to help me place there on a tray? I've forgotten where you put them since..." He trails off, and I know the hijacking made him forget some things. Walking towards the oven, I pull open a draw to reveal some metal trays and grease-proof paper. Peeta taps the counter behind me,

"I remember they were there now," he comments, and as I turn around I see he's ruffling his blonde hair. It's been getting a little darker recently – no longer the golden blonde curls, but slightly dirty blonde and a little more straight. I wonder if it's from stress, or just lack of washing, as I place the tray down and leave him to place the paper down,

"You still remember the recipe for those," I say, trying to start a conversation. I return to where I was stood behind the counter,

"I've actually been making them a lot recently, they remind me of you," Peeta hands me a wooden spoon, "Makes me remember everything that happened between us,"

Whilst he scoops a large blob of the mixture on to the tray, I stood paralysed for a second, feeling something strange after what he said. He sounded like my Peeta, the boy who threw the bread in the rain, the fearless sixteen year old confessing his love for me to the whole of Panem. That's when I think – did he ever leave? Was he just hiding inside a thick shell? It suddenly dawns on me how much I missed Peeta's presence.

Peeta has scooped four blobs on to the paper, waiting for me to do mine, which stops me from thinking so much. Not as neatly as Peeta, and a lot less rapidly, I smear the mixture on to the paper. A waft of cheese enters my nose – making my mouth water slightly. I don't think I've eaten cheese buns for over nine months, way before the Quarter Quell.

Peeta places the tray carefully in the oven, slamming the door shut and setting a timer for twenty minutes. I find it remarkable how he remembers the small things like this, and not the things I want him to remember so badly, like our times in the arena, when he'd keep my nightmares away and the kiss on the beach in the Quarter Quell. The Capitol ruined him, and he'll always be damaged somehow,

"What do you want to do now?" Peeta leans over the counter with me, his shoulder presses against mine. I decide there and then, I want to bring the old Peeta back. So naturally, I ask the first thing that came to mind when I think of him,

"Peeta, do you still love me?" I had to force myself to say it, regretting I had when the words tumbled from my lips. I feel Peeta's muscles tense next to me, his eyes looking anywhere around the room that isn't near me. Convinced he won't reply, I begin walking out of the room,

"Wait – Katniss," Peeta grabs my wrist, though I don't turn to look at him. The tone of his voice sounds apologetic – I know what he's going to say. I hate to admit it, but it hurts knowing it's not true anymore,

"I know," I whisper, pulling my arm away from his grasp,

"That isn't fair, you aren't listening," Peeta steps in front of me, hesitantly placing his hands on my shoulders. I make eye contact, which makes me feel ridiculously uncomfortable, so I let my eyes wander around. Peeta begins to speak,

"Katniss, I don't know what's real and what's not real. Every night I lay in my bed wondering what's what and what's not, and I start to just _know _what isn't real. It's all shiny, like I said. Then when an episode comes along, I lose track," He strokes my shoulders with his thumbs, which are rough from his years of baking, "If I'm honest, I do but I don't, I need more time to heal,"

I stare into his eyes – seeing a little shimmer of the Peeta hiding inside the shell, and I know he's being honest,

"I miss you," I mumble, pulling him into a hug. It's the most contact we've made since the time I kissed him in The Capitol streets, which I doubt he even remembers. His strong arms are warm against my back, his breath tickling my neck. I smile – the first real smile in years.


	2. Chapter 2

Those Missing Moments

**One Month Later**

The weather has been getting warmer recently, so Peeta and I have been planting some Primrose's out in the front yard. The peaceful yellow of the bushes actually calm me – though they bear the same name as my passed sister. I know Prim wants me to be happy, and I know she appreciates that I want to remember her. She's watching over me somehow, I can feel it.

Peeta's far quicker at planting the bushes than I am, so he begins to help me with mine. Pressing the soil down around the base of the flowers, I notice his laces are double knotted. I find it quite amusing, really – the real Peeta is beginning to break out,

"What?" Peeta smirks, seeing that I'm staring at his feet. I hastily look away, fiddling with a few chunks of soil,

"Oh, just..." I turn to look at his face, "Doesn't matter," I begin to stand up, dusting my hands down on my lap,

"Wait, stay," Peeta pats the ground next to him, "May as well enjoy this weather before it starts raining again," I decide he's right – normally it rains everyday about this time of year. As I kneel down on the blades of grass, I notice Peeta is holding a tiny flower – a dandelion, "I remember you looking at one of these at school, the day after I threw the bread," He twirls the flower in his fingers, examining the lemony shaded petals,

"I remember that too," I reply, picking away at the blades of grass like I see the school children do when they're sitting in The Meadow. The scent of fresh grass reminds me of the woods, which comforts me greatly. Thinking of the woods, it reminds me of the many times I spent with Gale, how I'd never be able to do that again. Strangely, I don't feel hurt that those times will never happen again – I feel relief. Relief that I don't have to worry about Gale anymore. I only have to worry for Peeta, the last person left that I care about. Peeta is the same towards me; we'll always be a team, just like in the Games.

I decide that maybe I should take Peeta down to the woods, to show him what I did before that fateful day at the reaping,

"Peeta," I start, putting down the grass I had picked, "I want to show you something," Flicking my braid over my shoulder, I help him up. Unfortunately, his prosthetic leg still bothers him after all this time. Peeta stands, rubbing his hands together to try grind off the dirt,

"What is it?" He asks, following me as I begin to walk out of the front yard. I don't reply, determined to keep it a surprise. Strangely, I still remember the exact way to the forest even though there's no fence anymore, never humming with the sound of electricity. Nobody dares build on the land, it supposed to be respectful towards the people who died back when 12 was bombed.

When we enter the wooded area, much to my amusement, Peeta's loud steps chase away every creature within a ten meter radius. I don't blame him for being loud, I know it's difficult with his leg.

Though I said I'd never take anyone to my father's lake, I decide that Peeta can be the one exception. He's the last person left that I trust, and I know Dad won't mind.

As if it hadn't been touched, the teal water gently laps the rocks that are covered in greenery. Katniss roots are peaking through the cracks, their tiny flowers almost glowing in the afternoon sunlight. I smile, skipping down to the place where I used to have picnics with my father,

"Wow, Katniss," Peeta smiles, looking around. A wide smile is pasted across his face, his eyes taking in every single aspect of the area, "I should have brought my sketch book," I smile when he says that, knowing that he thinks this place is beautiful enough to draw,

"My dad used to bring me here," I say, beginning to unlace my boots. Peeta watches as I pull them off, along with my socks. I dunk my feet in the cool, calm water. The sensation reminds me of every trip I had here with my father, being taught how to swim. I feel happy they happened, not sad that they're gone. Just like with Gale, "Want to come in?" I ask, splashing my feet around in the few inches of water I'm stood in. Peeta nods silently, beginning to take off his own shoes.

His prosthetic leg shines in the sunlight, which I find slightly strange at first. It looks like what you'd expect a really high tech robot to have as a leg – fortunately, nothing like that has been invented yet. Peeta's other leg plunges into the water, smiling as the water ripples around it. Plodding towards me, he smiles broadly,

"I wish my dad was like yours," he says, pulling his pants up a little more to stop them from getting damp at the bottom. I remember his dad giving me the cookies when I was sat in the Justice Building. I'd thought he was a rather nice man, though my mother had been taken from him, he didn't blame me for it,

"Don't say that," I whisper, looking up at his face. He's giving me a mischievous look, and before I have time to wonder why, icy water is splashed in my face. I take a step back, gasping, "Peeta!" I yell, trying to look angry. I can't hold in a laugh, unfortunately, so chuck a handful of water back at him.

Chucking water back and forth, we end up soaking one another completely. Whilst grinning like a little kid, I remember Gale used to say I only smile in the woods. It's not true anymore, I only really smile when I'm around Peeta. I push Peeta over into the water, his hand latched around mine, pulling me down with him. I giggle uncontrollably before I look up at his face, smiling right at me.

That's when I feel it – the hunger. The need to be with him, but there's a problem. I don't know how to tell him, and I find that I'm too nervous to do much else except stare into his large blue eyes. It's been too soon since I asked him if he loved me, anyway. That was only a month ago, I'm sure he needs even more months to heal completely,

"Did your dad used to sing here, with you?" Peeta asks, sitting up slightly. I move away, holding my damp braid in my hand,

"Yeah, I learnt all my songs here," I reply, pulling myself up again. I stick my hand out for Peeta, to help him up. He grabs it, and when he stands up, he doesn't let go,

"Can you sing for me?" Peeta asks, looking up at a tree. I follow his gaze, and see he's staring at a mockingjay. At first, I don't want to look at it – mockingjays link to so many bad memories. Then I think – I am still the Mockingjay. I'm still alive when I shouldn't be, just like the mockingjay. I take in a deep breath, shivering from my damp clothes,

"Which song?" I ask, focusing on the bird. Though it seems to know we're staring at it, it doesn't fly away from fright,

"That one you sang to Pollux on the propo back in Thirteen. I liked that one, but I never got to hear all of it," Peeta whispers, while I glance at him. He glances back, and when I look into his eyes, I see _the real_ Peeta.

Knowing that Peeta has come out of his shell, it gives me the energy to sing for him. I walk away from his hand, my back to him, and walk towards the bird. I let out the four note whistle Rue always made – to honour her memory – and sing:

_Are you, are you  
>Coming to the tree?<br>Where they strung up a man they say murdered three,  
>Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be,<br>If we met up at midnight in The Hanging Tree_

The bird copies the tune, just as they did when I was with Pollux.

_Are you, are you  
>Coming to the tree?<br>Where the dead man called out for his love to flee,  
>Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be,<br>If we met up at midnight in The Hanging Tree_

_Are you, are you  
>Coming to the tree?<br>Where I told you to run so we'd both be free,  
>Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be,<br>If we met up at midnight in The Hanging Tree_

I sense Peeta standing behind me, most likely because I can hear his loud footsteps. Turning to face him, I see he has a fine line of crimson on each of his cheeks.

_Are you, are you  
>Coming to the tree?<br>Wear a necklace of rope side by side with me,  
>Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be,<br>If we met up at midnight in The Hanging Tree_

I stand awkwardly after I finish the song, not sure what I do next. Peeta doesn't seem to know either, as he just stands in front of me with his mouth slightly open, which is extremely unlike him. I give him a tiny smile. I've sung in front of Peeta before, so why do I suddenly feel incredibly shy?

"Katniss," Peeta breathes. If I wasn't so trained in listening for game, I probably wouldn't have known he'd said anything. I have absolutely no idea what to do, frustrating myself. Not wanting Peeta to see how torn I am, I rush back towards the fence, "Katniss, wait!" Peeta yells this time. I hear him following me, but because of his leg he can't catch up. Twigs break beneath my feet, weeds nearly trip me up. It's not until I catch my foot on a rock that I fall over: I land face first into a bush, letting out a small yelp.

Peeta's footsteps come up behind me, and when I feel his arms lifting me up I know he's here,

"What's wrong, Katniss?" Peeta asks, his eyes bore into mine. I could run – the fence is only about fifty meters away, only, I don't want to,

"I-I don't –" I stutter, not having a clue what to say. I'm not good with words, not like Peeta. I grasp his shoulders, staring at my feet, "Peeta, I'm so sorry," I mumble, refusing to look into his eyes,

"What for?" He asks, lifting my chin up with his finger. Now I'm forced to see his eyes, the worry that lies in them. I shake myself away,

"Just... I don't know! I don't know at _all_ how I feel about all this," I fold my arms, wanting to run off. Peeta's hands hold my shoulders,

"It's okay, let's go home. Forget this happened," I feel Peeta's lips against my forehead before he leads me back to the house, holding my hand the whole way there. When we arrive back, we continue planting the Primrose bushes in silence. Neither of us know what to say to one another, I'm assuming.

When night comes, I honestly don't want to have to deal with the nightmares. The night before, I had dreamed that we were back in the arena – Peeta sitting at death's door. The faces of Rue, Thresh, Clove and Cato had haunted my vision, terrifying me into a sweaty awakening,

"Peeta, will you stay? Please?" I ask, perching on the end of my bed. He sits next to me, and takes my hand,

"Always,"


	3. Chapter 3

Those Missing Moments

**In the Morning**

A cool breeze from the open window tickles my cheek – waking me up from my slumber. I sigh, roll over, and accidentally bump into Peeta. He wakes up with a startle, his muscles tense,

"Sorry!" I whisper, sitting up in the bed. The sun is shining brilliantly through the window, making Peeta's hair glow like a little halo. Running his hands through it, he sits up,

"It's okay," Peeta smiles, "Did you have any nightmares?"

"No, did you?" I ask, stripping the duvet off my too warm body,

"None at all, it's a nice change," Peeta gets out of the bed, peering out of the window. I see a smile form on his lips as he sees the weather, "It's beautiful outside, maybe we could watch the sunset this evening," I remember his favourite colour – sunset orange. I smile, fiddling around my end table to find a band to tie my hair into the usual braid,

"I'd love that," Peeta turns around, smiling at my reply.

The sun doesn't set until about 8 o' clock since it's spring now. We sit in The Meadow, all the children have gone home to sleep, ready to go to school again tomorrow.

Peeta has brought the tiny ration of chocolate he was given back when The Capitol delivered some supplies last month. I told him to use it for baking, but he refused and said that he wanted to use it for something special.

I'm wearing a dress for the first time since the Quell, a knee-length scarlet shaded one that my mother sent me from District Four. At first I had been tempted to throw it away, but decided to keep it for moments like this. Being here in my hunting gear wouldn't have exactly been appropriate,

"You think this is perfect, real or not real?" Peeta leans on one arm, sitting in a pale green button up shirt and a pair of shorts. He looks down at me, his eyes looking slightly green from the dim sunlight,

"Real," I say in a soft voice. A weak breeze sweeps my hair behind my shoulder, since it's not in the usual braid. Peeta begins to fiddle with it, reminding me of our time on the roof the night before the Quell. For what I thought had been my last day alive, it was one of the best experiences I'd ever had.

As the sun begins to dip behind the horizon, Peeta and I fall silent. Streaks of orange and crimson paint half the sky, the other half being a calming midnight blue. With not a single cloud in the sky or tree blocking the way, the view is flawless. Peeta laces his fingers into mine, causing my face to warm up. Oh, great. I'm _blushing_.

Being around Peeta makes me feel like I'm literally on fire, making my old nickname slip into my thoughts. Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire. Only this time, it's a _good_ fire.

I squeeze his hand tightly, not daring to look at his face. My eyes focus on the setting sun, radiating it's last few rays across District 12. I begin to hear crickets sitting in the grass, filling my ears with a natural melody. I wonder if there's any mockingjays to whistle to, but I don't think they'd be out this late in the evening.

The sun is finally completely hidden behind the horizon, making me realise how cold it is suddenly. I regret not wearing my hunting gear now,

"Here," Peeta puts his arm around me, his warm flesh blissful on my skin. It isn't much, but it's helping keep the cold away, "Let's go home,"

"Wait," I grab his shirt, swiftly kissing his cheek. When I lean back, I don't run away like yesterday. Peeta doesn't respond, but a tiny smile forms on his lips. He stands up, pulling me up with him. Wordlessly, he leads me back to the Victor's Village, his arm around me the whole time.

Instead of going back to my house like usual, we end up going to Peeta's. He only really goes to his house to paint for customers, so I haven't been in a long time. It's basically the same as my house, only everything is a little dustier from lack of use. I hear the door click shut behind me, then feel Peeta's hand around mine,

"I want to show you something," he mumbles, leading me towards his basement. The smell of paint instantly fills my nose as we slowly descend into the room, which in a way is comforting. It's how Peeta smells when he walks into my house sometimes.

I see canvases everywhere – most of them half finished. Only one is completely finished, and it's a picture of Prim and I. I stop, staring at my younger sister. She looks so _alive_ in the picture, a perfect smile on her pale face. Two braids in her blonde hair, tied at the ends with yellow ribbons,

"Peeta," I whisper, feeling tears come to my eyes. I haven't cried over Prim yet, but now I think I will,

"I did it for you, Katniss," Peeta comes up to me, taking both my hands, his expression full of worry, "Sorry, I'm sorry-"

The hunger comes over me again, like a spark suddenly turning into a raging inferno. All I can think about is _Peeta_. I tear my hands away from his, then place them on his shoulders. Needing his touch, I quickly lean in and press my lips to his.

It's the first kiss we've ever shared properly alone, the first kiss where it's completely real. I hold my hands around his neck, the ends of his blonde hair tickling my fingers. It seems to take a while for the moment to sink in for him, as it takes a few minutes before he actually starts responding.

As we part, I see Peeta is smiling goofily. I scowl,

"What?" I say, thinking I did something wrong. Peeta strokes my cheek,

"You love me, real or not real?" he says in a seductive tone, eyes focusing on mine.

And because I know how it is now, how it would have always been, I tell him:

"Real."


	4. Chapter 4

Those Missing Moments

**AN:**

**Hey guys! I'd just like to say – thank you SO MUCH for reviewing! It means a lot to me when I check my email and there's new reviews , 18 last I checked. Wow, thanks really!**

**I apologise for the delay, I had writer's block until very late last night XD**

**I'm going to admit, I'm terrible at writing monologue. I'm so used to writing in the past tense. If this sort of drifts in and out of past and present I'm really sorry XD it's not my usual writing style.**

**Nine Days Later**

The day it happens is completely out of the blue, the day Peeta has an episode. He hadn't had one for about three months – and then it just creeps up on him. It happens while we we're sitting in front of the TV, watching a cookery show, while my head rests on his shoulder. Suddenly, he stands up, face in his hands,

"Katniss, get out," Peeta groans, hands pulling at his hair. I wonder what's going on, until he removes his hands from his face. His eyes are so glassy, like they always are when he has an episode, "Katniss, go!" he falls to his knees, punching the hard floor with his fist,

"Peeta!" I panic, not knowing what to do. So instead of obeying him, I drop to my knees beside him, "Peeta it's not real! Not real!"

Peeta continues punching the floor. I remember him saying that pain keeps him attached to reality, so I reluctantly don't try to stop him. His other hand pulls at his hair, tugging it into a messy knot,

"Gale is in District Two. Real or not real?" I hear Peeta moan, not looking up. That's when I realise what The Capitol did – they're trying to make Peeta hurt by making him think I'm with Gale.

I frown with disgust,

"Real. He moved to District Two after he got some new job, and we're never going to see him again," I dare myself to grab his wrist, he doesn't hit it away. Peeta sits up, eyes still glassy,

"I can't even, just –" Peeta hits himself, "I don't know!" I wonder what he's doing, probably arguing with himself,

"Peeta, stop –"

He grabs my shoulder, squeezing it so tightly until I think it's just about to break. I cry out from pain, and when he lets go, I collapse in a heap,

"Katniss!" Peeta's voice is back to normal, his eyes no longer glassy. Staring up at his face leaning over me, you would never have thought he'd just had an attack, "Katniss, I'm so sorry," he whispers, lifting me up back on to the sofa, arms warm around me. I don't say anything, purely from shock.

Peeta seems to remember squeezing my shoulder, as he pulls down the collar of my shirt to reveal the bare flesh of the injury. With his now soft fingers, he traces them over my shoulder like little butterflies, "I'm so sorry," he mumbles while doing this. I don't stop him.

We stay like this for the whole night, Peeta keeps caressing my shoulder. Eventually we both fall asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning is bright and sunny – a little strange for early April. I smile, then instantly regret it.

I can hear sobbing coming from the bathroom, and I know in a heartbeat that it's Peeta,

"Peeta?" I say, pulling myself off the sofa, "Peeta?" I knock on the bathroom door, and though Peeta knows I'm present, he still keeps sobbing,

"Go away, Katniss," Peeta groans. I hear something smash.

Turning the door handle, I realise it's pointless. Of course Peeta locked the door,

"Peeta, please," I lean my forehead against the door. I know he feels terrible about the episode – but he can't help it. The Capitol did it to him, they damaged him, twisted his mind into something that can't be fully repaired. I still care about him.

I hear the lock click, then the door slowly squeak open. Peeta's tear-stained face makes me feel something inside me. Guilt,

"I'm supposed to protect you and I can't," Peeta tries to hold in more tears, but a stream of them begin falling down his cheeks. I try to say something, but as you know, I'm no good with words. So instead, I lean in and kiss him.

Peeta's lips remain stiff for a few seconds, probably scared of hurting me. Suddenly, his arms wrap around my waist tightly, making it difficult to breathe.

As we break apart, I see Peeta's smiling. I'd do anything to see that smile everyday for the rest of my life.


End file.
